


the crown

by kocuria



Series: the Winter drabbles [11]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Cats, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Emotional support Russian assassins, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No but really, POV Outsider, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Schmoop, Sharing a Body, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, what just happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria
Summary: “Trust me. Steve’s gonna love it.”“He will?” Winter’s face immediately smooths out, accepting her judgement. It’s almost scary, how much he trusts her, how much Steve’s opinion matters to him.If Steve ever abuses this power he has over Winter, she’ll personally take his head off... and she knows he’ll return the favor if the situation’s reversed.-The fluff interlude.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Winter, Winter & Natasha Romanov
Series: the Winter drabbles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805338
Comments: 89
Kudos: 230





	1. Natalia

**Author's Note:**

> I got a little overwhelmed by angst / plot in [at arm's length](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733527) and decided what we need is a fluff break. This takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of that story. **Quick summary:** Bucky and Winter are separate personalities sharing a body, and Bucky decided to temporarily leave Winter in full control of it for reasons. I looked at the series timeline - yes, of course there is one 😉 - and realized what _occasion_ falls right during Bucky's hiatus.
> 
> котенок /kotyonok/ = Russian for kitten
> 
> This is very much an "author has a migraine and needs shameless schmoop" fic. There's also [a fanart](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/630180176630874112) that started it all. You'll see.  
> There might be a chapter 2. It's... something like 60% likely. I just need to figure out what Steve wants to do, or rather what to do with _the consequences_ of what I think he wants to do.  
> Don't judge me too harshly for I'm loopy on pain meds 😂 
> 
>   
> The author has no experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder whatsoever (way too much with other fun mental stuff though).  
> You can find the series timeline [HERE!](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/637890812746891264/timeline-for-the-winter-drabbles-series)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kocuria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows exactly how Winter - and Bucky - feel. She’s been through this. And maybe she’s never been head-over-heels in love with a man picking her up on Valentine’s, but she knows some about the culture around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's Nat POV, I'm not italicizing - but you can assume everything before Steve appears is said in Russian.

“We’ve only got an hour, come on!” Winter’s excited voice comes from the bathroom, and Natasha hides the smile in her glass.

“You’re almost ready, an hour is plenty,” she answers, but unfolds herself from where she’s curled up on her insanely comfy sectional. It’s been insanely expensive, too, but screw that - _you deserve nice things, Tasha,_ Clint’s voice in her head says.

She’s taken it upon herself to educate Winter about the insanity that is Valentine’s Day, so they’ve been holed up on her floor all afternoon, watching _Love Actually_ and chasing her favorite sweet wine with salted caramel ice cream. Not that _wine_ does anything for either of them - it’s about the ritual, the feel of the crystal glass in your hand, the slight tingle as it goes down.

She follows the pattern Clint’s set up, almost exactly a decade before, when _she_ was fresh from the cold, staring wide-eyed at all the things that screamed _home._ The floppy dog on his ratty couch. The second-hand sci-fi paperbacks littering the floor. The pizza boxes stacked high on the kitchen counter. She’s since developed her own tastes - much more sophisticated, and much more _expensive_ than Clint’s ever were, but she figures she’s owed all the self-indulgence she can get after god knows how many years of being a Widow.

She knows exactly how Winter - and Bucky - feel. She’s been through this. And maybe she’s never been head-over-heels in love with a man picking her up on Valentine’s, but she knows some about the culture around it. She’s got the countless evenings spent watching trashy TV with Clint to thank for it.

She enters the bathroom to see Winter standing in front of the mirror, brushing his hair out. He’s wearing jeans - the black skinny ones that she’s helped them pick, the ones that made the shop assistant go very, _very_ red and start practically salivating. She knows Winter hates them, preferring clothes that are soft and comfortable, but _no, котенок_ _,_ _you’re not wearing sweats to a date with Steve._ Winter pouted, but agreed.

Winter’s bare chest is on full display, and she takes a moment to just look him over. He notices - of course he does - and smiles at her serenely. They’re long past any bashfulness about their bodies. Even if she was interested in _anyone_ this way, Winter is family - a strange combination of a protective older brother who gave her the only scraps of affection she ever got in the Red Room, and a clueless younger sibling she needs to teach how to human. She feels a swell of rage, as she always does, at the numerous scars and welts littering his skin, especially the red and inflamed joint between his body and the metal arm. He’s moving carefully, using mostly his right hand - he _shows_ no pain, his face a picture of excited anticipation, but the issue of the surgery must really be addressed, and soon. _Bucky, you better be coming back,_ she thinks, then shakes herself and joins Winter at the mirror.

“Hair down,” she orders.

“But I wanted to do the waterfall braid you showed me!” Winter protests, and she narrows her eyes, considering.

“Okay, but keep most of it loose.” She can see him gearing up to protest. “Trust me. Steve’s gonna love it.”

“He will?” Winter’s face immediately smooths out, accepting her judgement. It’s almost scary, how much he trusts her, how much Steve’s opinion matters to him.

If Steve ever abuses this power he has over Winter, she’ll personally take his head off... and she knows he’ll return the favor if the situation’s reversed.

“Of _course_ he will, котенок, he’d love you in a potato sack and shaved bald.” He looks scandalized at that, and she laughs. “He adores your hair. And he’s got a surprise planned for you.”

Winter grins at her, then frowns at his phone. “50 minutes. Help me with the left side?”

At 6PM on the dot, there’s a knock on the door, and Winter flits to the corridor to answer it before she can even get up. She has to jog her way there, determined to see Steve’s reaction to their efforts.

Winter opens the door, and she smirks. Damn, but Steve cleans up good. The crisp white shirt under his leather jacket looks just as sharp as she thought it would when she told him to wear it, blue jeans and heavy boots completing the set.

(Yes, she’s playing both sides here, so sue her. Steve’s cluelessin the clothing department, and Winter… well. Winter’s hers, _of course_ she’s gonna help.)

Just as she expected, Steve’s jaw drops when he sees Winter, black shirt on black jeans on black Converse, a red peacoat already in hand. Steve blushes, then his face _softens_ like it always does when he looks at either Bucky _or_ Winter.

Thing is, this situation, the Steve-and-Bucky-and-Winter thing, is still very much in flux, all three of them carefully feeling their way through, afraid to miss a step - and considering the triple load of PTSD and Winter’s relative age, it’s probably for the best. So, when it became apparent that Bucky will _not_ be attending Valentine’s Day, Steve immediately rallied and decided to sweep Winter off his feet. She has no idea what he’s got planned for later, but she does know what comes _now._

Steve brings his hands from behind his back, showing a riot of pink and red and yellow he’s been hiding, and Winter’s smile becomes incandescent.

“It’s traditional to bring your date a bouquet of flowers, but I thought you’d like _this_ more,” Steve says, suddenly shy. He lifts the arrangement to show what he means, and Natasha nods approvingly over Winter’s shoulder. The crown is perfect - big and over-the-top, in Winter’s favorite warm, sunny colors. With his orange-and-lemongrass shampoo, the corridor suddenly smells like new beginnings and all things spring.

Winter seems to be at a loss for words, just staring dazedly up at Steve, his already huge eyes made even bigger by a hint of eyeliner she applied for him. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, and his mouth is slightly open. He’s a picture of dopey adoration, for all that he’s over 250 pounds of deadly metal and pure muscle. 

Steve, realizing his gift is, indeed, being well received, gestures to Winter’s hair. “Can I…?”

“Yes, Steve,” Winter breathes, and Natasha feels. Proud? Protective? Happy? Some combination of those, with a little bit of worry still added to the mix. _Don’t you fuck this up, Steven._

Steve places the crown on Winter’s head, infinitely careful, like it’s made of spun glass, then tucks a few stray strands of hair behind Winter’s ear, letting his hand linger on his cheek. Winter tilts his head minutely into it, then seems to realize what he’s doing, and blushes even more. They’re both beaming like love-sick teenagers, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Go, you got places to be,” she says, and when Winter scrambles to put on his peacoat, she looks at Steve meaningfully - a blessing _and_ a warning. He nods, his expression growing serious for a moment, then his attention is riveted by Winter, who holds his right hand out to him.

Steve melts taking it - turns into a veritable puddle of schmoop - and this time she _does_ roll her eyes.

Supersoldiers. Earth’s mightiest heroes. 

Uh-huh.


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve blinks and shuts the mouth that’s dropped open without him noticing. Over Winter’s shoulder, Natasha snickers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware, here comes **schmoop**.
> 
> me, at 2PM: oh, this won't be more than 1k, i got 2h till i start work, let's **do** this.  
> ... needless to say, it's actually 6AM as i'm posting it, and it's almost 4x the size i was going for.  
> enjoy? 😂 
> 
> all the kisses to cacopheny for beta! 😘

Steve’s spent the last week in turns fretting about every little detail and bouncing with excitement.

He’s decided to squeeze all things he knows Winter loves into one evening - god knows Winter needs it, growing more and more frayed by Bucky’s continuing absence, visibly taxed by the pain that’s been intensifying to the point where even he is unable to hide it. Deciding _what_ to do was easy - he and Bucky keep a running tally of all the things they’ve noticed Winter smiling about, and the list grows every day - but making it happen proved to be… challenging.

What if somebody recognizes them? The identity of the Winter Soldier - the fact that Bucky Barnes, the only fallen Howling Commando, is actually alive - hasn’t been made public as of yet. That’s a can of worms they’ve been reluctant to open, going as far as having Bucky and Winter wear the photostatic veil whenever they leave the Tower. Both of them _hate_ the thing - surprisingly, Bucky much more so than Winter, who took the necessity of it in stride. It’s a mission requirement - the mission being ‘control the narrative around their coming back’ - and he’s accepted it in his typical matter-of-fact manner.

Steve’s noticed, though, of course he did - the stiffness in him whenever the veil is on, the slight cringe just before it activates. He’s _not_ subjecting him to that on Valentine’s Day of all days.

So yeah, the planning has been tricky - but Steve has a team of literal geniuses to aid him. Unsurprisingly, the biggest help turned out to be Pepper, making a few phone calls that opened all kinds of options for Steve to choose from.

First item on Winter’s agenda for Valentine’s Day: an afternoon with Nat. Steve knows he’ll never understand, exactly, how deep their bond goes, forged somewhere under the unyielding pressure of Siberian ice - but he knows she’s one of the most important people in Winter’s life, so them spending time together was a logical first step. Natasha looked at him with something like respect - and something like gratitude, too? - when he came to her to suggest it, and she quickly promised to take care of Winter and ‘get him ready for Steve’, whatever _that_ means.

The door opens and suddenly he understands what both Pepper and Nat told him when he came to them, worried about inadvertently outing Bucky’s identity before they’re ready for it. 

“Nobody will connect the kevlar-clad, muzzled assailant they’ve seen only on shaky camera footage with… well, with Winter,” Pepper said. “They couldn’t be any different if you _tried._ I’m more worried about him being recognized as Bucky, especially since he’ll be right next to you…”

“... but people see what they _expect_ to see, and nobody expects to see a 70-year-dead WWII hero in 21st century New York on a date on Valentine’s Day,” Nat finished firmly, and that was that.

The door opens, and Steve’s jaw drops, and suddenly he sees what they meant with crystal clarity. 

Winter’s radiant and soft and _perfect._

He always is, to Steve, but whatever it is that Nat’s done has… amplified it. He’s dressed all in black, but it’s nothing like the Soldier, it’s _modern_ and _elegant_ and those _jeans_ do _things_ to the horde of butterflies that have taken residence in Steve’s stomach sometime this morning. 

Steve tears his eyes away _(kitten,_ **_kitten,_ ** _we do not salivate over kittens)_ and looks at Winter’s face instead, and _falls._ Winter’s hair goes in soft waves around his face, framing cheekbones that could cut glass. His eyes sparkle, and their color has never been more vivid - so different from Bucky’s steel-blue, this silver-grey unique to Winter for some reason nobody can really explain. There’s a dazzling smile on his face that’s growing more and more amused by the second.

Steve blinks and shuts the mouth that’s dropped open without him noticing. Over Winter’s shoulder, Natasha snickers.

Then it’s Winter’s turn to be dazed when Steve whips out his surprise - the crown he’s spent hours making, with some YouTube tutorials and excellent advice from Pepper’s flower… provider. Person. Whatever the man’s job title is, he’s more than earned the tip that Steve’s left him for helping choose the riot of marigolds and dahlias. Steve might’ve gone a little overboard and ordered way more than he actually ended up using, but, well - seeing Winter’s delighted expression, he thinks the way their floor is now decorated with colorful flower arrangements is not going to be a problem.

He nods solemnly to Natasha - her unspoken warning of _don’t you dare hurt him_ coming through loud and clear for all that she’s still smiling. Then Winter reaches out to take his hand and everything goes kind of soft around the edges, like he’s about to float up, up and away, lifted by those butterflies taking flight all at once.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to scowl at Nat for giggling like a schoolgirl. _Winter’s_ **_holding his hand._ ** It flutters around in his head on repeat, making time stretch like taffy, every single detail burning itself in his memory forever. The calluses on Winter’s hand, so different from his own, born of guns and knives rather than the shield. Winter’s slightly unsure smile that goes right back to giddy when Steve beams down at him. The smell of flowers surrounding them, and is that _oranges?_ Steve can’t help but breathe deeper, trying to place it.

It’s _perfect._

“Wait, my veil!” Winter says when they’re in the elevator, suddenly wide-eyed and troubled. He worries at his lower lip, visibly torn between rationality - they’ve been using those things for a reason - and his dislike of them. Steve squeezes the hand he’s still holding reassuringly.

“I’ve got this, котенок. No veils today,” he says, and immediately Winter’s face clears, his trust in Steve’s judgement seemingly absolute.

(They haven’t tested that trust in the field, not yet. There was no need. He wonders what they’ll do once the call comes - will fighting with Winter by his side be as exhilarating as it was with Bucky, two bodies perfectly in sync? Somehow, he thinks it could be _better.)_

They exit the elevator at one of the underground parking levels, and Happy rolls down the window of the surprisingly unassuming black sedan. Steve can see the tactical assessment in Winter’s eyes, and the car seems to pass muster - Winter gives Happy a brief nod, then tugs at Steve’s hand to get inside. Steve follows, hearts in his eyes, and Happy grins at them indulgently before starting the engine.

Steve spends the drive watching Winter, the way lights play across his face, the smiles that come quick and easy whenever he spots something interesting and turns to Steve to tell him about it in child-like wonder. Steve can’t imagine missing out on _this,_ the simple pleasure of watching Winter be _happy,_ taken away by something as flimsy as a photostatic veil.

They stop in front of a restaurant, Happy not even turning off the engine as they get quickly out, a river of people dragging them away. Winter grabs Steve’s hand immediately, alarmed, eyes going wide, and Steve uses his bulk to steer them efficiently to the door of the restaurant. It’s a Pepper-approved place, which means they can actually trust in their relative anonymity - someone _will_ inevitably recognize Steve, even with the few days-worth of stubble obscuring his face somewhat, but nobody will take pictures, and nobody will bother them. They’ve seen way more shocking things than Captain America on a date, here, even if said date is a man.

Winter’s hold on Steve’s hand, tight to the point of cutting off circulation, loosens somewhat once they’re inside and a gregarious waiter leads them to a table in the corner. Steve looks Winter over and frowns - he didn’t foresee _this._ He didn’t know Winter had a problem with crowds - if he’d known, he’d’ve opted for staying in the Tower.

There’s some things that can’t really be brought to the Tower, though, he thinks, mentally reviewing his plans for the night.

Winter visibly regains his composure, color coming back to his face by the time the waiter comes back to take their order and takes the time to compliment Winter’s crown. Steve can’t help but puff up with pride at the praise while Winter just ducks his head, blushing prettily.

There’s a new side of Winter coming to life here, Steve realizes. He’s never been a loud or boisterous person, exactly - preferring to spend time with one or two people instead of larger groups, quietly reading or watching things on his tablet most of the time, training in silence, always listening carefully to everything around him, vigilant even in the JARVIS-run Tower. But this… bashful face of him? This is new, and Steve’s pretty sure he’s the first one who gets to see it. He can’t help but hoard it covetously.

It’s also yet another way Winter’s so, so different from Bucky. Bucky’s impish grin and cheeky persona had half of Brooklyn lusting after him ever since the summer he suddenly shot up a foot and bulked up working at the docks. Even if Bucky’s heart was firmly Steve’s, he still flirted with pretty much anything that moved both to keep up appearances and just for the fun of it. 

(He still _does_ that, charming all their friends, not discriminating between genders now that he doesn’t really have to. Darcy’s delight when she discovered _this_ side of his personality was topped only by Thor’s.)

The fragrant Turkish dishes get devoured at a speed that seems to surprise the waiter until he recognizes Steve - then he just winks conspiratorially and starts bringing double-portion sides with every course. By the time they’re full and content, Winter’s finally unfurled like a flower - chattering away about the new parkour route they’ve been mapping with Peter and grousing about the fact that he isn’t allowed to meet Peter’s friends until his identity becomes public knowledge.

Steve saves this tidbit for later consideration. Maybe, _maybe,_ the time to do that is, well… not now, since Bucky isn’t here to weigh in, but _soon?_

Steve’s suddenly hit by a wave of longing so devastating he just wants to crumple under its weight.

Bucky.

It’s been _weeks,_ weeks of not even a peep. They’ve tried luring him out with his favorite foods and activities. They’ve tried bargaining, then begging. They’ve convinced Tony to reconfigure BARF, to try and jolt Bucky out of hiding.

Nothing worked.

Steve opens his eyes and sees Winter looking at him with sad understanding.

“I’m sorry I’m not him,” Winter says, and Steve gapes.

_“What?”_

“This is a… a _romantic_ holiday. He’s been your everything for as long as either of you can remember. I’m sorry he’s not here with you,” Winter says softly, not looking at Steve, toying with his cuff.

“No,” Steve answers firmly. “No, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Do I wish he was here with us? Of course I do, but so do you.” Winter nods, eyes darting up to Steve’s, then down again. "But _y_ _ou_ are here with me. I get to take you out, show you a good time - I’m pretty sure I’d’ve wanted to do that even if Bucky _was_ around. This is… this is a chance for us to explore things, and I’m really happy you’re here with me today.”

There’s a full-on blush that starts high on Winter’s cheeks, going down his neck and making him look adorably flustered. “I’m happy to be here, too,” he finally says, taking Steve’s hand carefully. “It’s been amazing. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s not over yet!” Steve answers, grinning, and uses the hand he’s been given to drag Winter up to his feet. “There’s one more stop we’re making, this was just an appetizer.”

As expected, Winter hones in on new tactical information. “One more stop?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“It’s a surprise. Trust me?” Steve summons his best puppy expression, and the way Winter looks at him can only be described as fondly exasperated.

“I always do, Steve.”

Steve can’t help but preen.

“Kittens?” Winter asks, dumbfounded.

“Kittens,” Steve confirms, taking Winter’s peacoat and guiding him to the center of the room filled with toys and soft fabric nests and scratching posts and a milling crowd of at least 20 felines.

“You gave me _kittens_ for Valentine’s Day,” Winter repeats, like he can’t process the situation.

“Well, not really, we’re not _getting_ a kitten today,” Steve explains, and Winter’s face falls. “We’re just here to get to know them, because none of these are adoptable yet - they’re too young to be separated from their mothers. Here, let me,” Steve adds, gesturing to Winter’s crown. Winter just blinks at him owlishly, so Steve snickers and carefully takes it off for him. “Trust me, you’re going to want all the mobility you can get in about 30 seconds.”

The worker that’s taking care of them tonight - her name is Xiang and she’s training to be a veterinarian - gestures for them to sit, and Winter immediately does, plonking himself right in the middle of the carpeted floor and looking around like a man on a mission.

Well, no, not _exactly,_ since Winter’s usual missions included way more bloodshed than is likely to occur today, but there’s a laser focus to him that makes Steve smile. _This_ was a good idea, and he can’t help but be grateful to Pepper who suggested setting up a private appointment for them at the shelter. There was a sizable donation involved, but it was more on Steve’s insistence - once the person they’ve been talking to heard they’re looking for a support animal for Captain America’s veteran friend, she said she’ll make it happen. Even the specific time they requested - tonight - wasn’t much of a problem after that.

Steve goes to put away their jackets, and hears a high-pitched squeal of delight. He takes out his phone, starts rolling, then quietly comes back into the room.

Winter’s sprawled on the floor with no fewer than 5 kittens scrambling over him - none of them more than 8 weeks old, still a little wobbly on their feet, with tails like little exclamation points sticking out of balls of fuzz. The squeal seems to have been prompted by one of them trying its best to nom on Winter’s ear, although the culprit could also be the one that’s snuffling inside the cuff Winter’s opened at the restaurant. Winter's hair is a complete mess after only 5 minutes down on the floor, his fancy black outfit ruined by cat hair of every imaginable color, and Steve’s never seen him so absolutely delighted. There’s peals of helpless laughter tearing out of him between all the cooing, and endearments in more languages than Steve can readily identify.

Pepper suggested taking a few photos of Winter with kittens in preparation for the media shitstorm that will be the eventual reveal of their identity, saying that nobody could look at Winter frolicking with felines and be anything but hopelessly endeared. Steve can’t help but agree - this, right here, showcases the differences between Winter and the Soldier perfectly.

Steve can’t believe he _ever_ thought they could possibly be the same person.

After a few more minutes of ruckus some of the critters just pass out mid-action in a typical kitten fashion, and others wander away herded by one of the mothers. There’s an absolutely enormous long-haired adult sniffing at Winter’s hair curiously, but Winter’s attention is riveted by the twin balls of fuzz that fell asleep on his metal hand and shoulder.

There’s a rollercoaster of emotions going through Winter’s face, and none of them seem to be related to the pain he must obviously be in from the black kitten clawing at his inflamed shoulder in its sleep.

Winter looks up, and his eyes are full of tears, and he’s smiling so hard, and-

Oh.

It’s not like Steve wasn’t aware that he came to love Winter just as much as he does Bucky… but, well, he didn’t realize he was _in love_ with Winter as well.

It hits him with a full impact of a Chitauri space whale, for all that it seems obvious in retrospect.

He loves them both, Bucky and Winter.

He’s _in love_ with them both.

Oh.

“These two, what are their names?” Steve asks some time later, after figuring out how gravity works again, how to _breathe_ through all the feelings raging in his chest.

Xiang hums thoughtfully, then goes to consult her chart. “The white one is called Alpine, for, well, for obvious reasons.” They both grin. “The black one, uh, that’s a long story, but one of our volunteers is Russian and he called her Liho, that means-”

“Trouble,” Steve finishes. “It means she’s Trouble. They’re _perfect.”_

It takes Winter over two hours to peel himself away from the cats - new ones keep coming to him for pets, and the treats Xiang gave him only make the situation worse. It’s getting late though, and Xiang obviously has her own plans for the night, so Steve finally manages to extricate them from the room. They’re both a few pounds of cat hair heavier, and Steve’s heart feels full to bursting as Winter practically falls asleep on his shoulder on the drive back to the Tower. Steve doesn’t _carry_ him home - he’d love to, but it really doesn’t seem like a good idea - but he does put an arm around his shoulders, careful not to jolt the left one too much. Winter cuddles into him, warm and rumpled and adorable, then perks up when they get to their floor and he sees all the flowers spread around the living room.

“There’s more in your bedroom,” Steve says, smiling, and Winter flits off to check, then skips back, enthusiastic.

 _“Thank you,_ Steve, today was…” he starts, then drifts off, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Perfect. I think the word you’re looking for is perfect,” Steve finishes softly, and Winter nods fervently. “There’s one more thing, though.”

“One more surprise?” Winter asks, delighted.

“Yes. Kitchen table. There’s two envelopes, the orange one is for you,” Steve answers, taking Winter’s hand gently and leading him there. “The violet one is for Bucky.”

Winter nods again, taking his envelope carefully and opening it. He takes out the card Steve’s made for him like it’s a precious artifact that’d crumble at the slightest touch, and Steve can’t help but feel flattered by the careful attention.

Winter doesn’t hurry. He takes his time examining every detail of the drawing - Steve with Winter and Bucky, the way he knows they see themselves: Bucky in his pre-war lithe form, Winter in the one they have now; all of them laughing. Steve included little details for Winter to notice - the blue blanket, a mug of hot chocolate, a roomba chirping in a corner of the picture. He was going for lighthearted, telling himself it’s not really a _love_ love card, but, well, joke’s on him. And Winter seems to like it the way it is, gently tracing some lines with his metal finger, careful not to smudge them.

“It was a tradition, when we were young,” Steve says finally, when Winter still doesn’t say anything and his nerves start fraying a little. “Not all this modern stuff, chocolates, jewelry - nobody had money for that anyway, least of all us. But people bought cards - or made them, if they knew how, and those handmade ones were actually considered more fancy - and this was something I _could_ do, something I could give Bucky, so I did. I imagine they’re still out there, somewhere - I certainly didn’t get them back when I claimed my personal belongings from the Smithsonian and the S.S.R. archives. They were, oh god, some of them were so silly, but as we got older… well, I really regret not having them, I’d’ve loved to show them to you…” Steve drifts off, then shakes his head ruefully.

“Point is, this was our tradition, mine and Bucky’s, and now it’s _yours,_ too,” Steve points to the two envelopes on the table. “Our lives aren’t just about _us_ anymore, now that _you've_ found us. You know Bucky can’t imagine his life without you - well, neither can I,” he finishes, feeling suddenly naked and very, very vulnerable.

Winter tilts his head and thinks for a second, and Steve tries not to twitch anxiously. Was it too much? Did he come on too strong? Does Winter-

“You are my _home,”_ Winter finally says. “The two of you. Bucky, obviously, he _made_ me, but you? I didn’t know if I should trust you, at the beginning. I didn’t _want_ to. But I’m glad I did. I’m glad I tried, I’m glad you gave me a chance. You are _home.”_

Steve doesn’t _sob._ He _doesn’t._ He just… takes a very deep, wet breath and opens his arms.

And Winter comes to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! 🙃  
>   
>   
> 


End file.
